Yukimura
by doroniasobi
Summary: it had been a miracle that he survived. he can't do it again. — Yukimura, Rikkaidai


**A/N: Yes, I am aware that it is fairly strange for me to post something when not being prompted. XD But in truth, I was prompted. Kind of. Not really. Bah. Enjoy~. n__n**

* * *

Yukimura

Yukimura's first surgery had been something of a miracle. It had never meant to succeed; it was only something worth trying. The doctors had clarified over and over again, that there was a higher chance of the surgery failing than succeeding. And especially, to Yukimura, the feelings of dread, fear, and denial settled nicely in the pit of his stomach. He didn't welcome them, but he didn't choose to get rid of them, either. Hope only lingered in Yukimura's mind, fading and fading until only a glimmer of shine was left. And even when Yukimura was taken into the operation room, hope was translucent, glittering just barely.

And yet, somehow, Yukimura was able to pull through.

He was able to see his family again. He was able to walk properly, move around like he had in the past. He was able to see classmates, teachers, and was able to rejoice with them and be grateful that he lived through such miracle.

He was also able to see the frowns his teammates carried as the medal of silver hung around their necks, bearing shame to Rikkai Dai. He was able to see Kirihara's face, scrunched up in remorse. He was able to see Yagyuu's and Yanagi's disappointment in themselves. He was able to sense the unhappy atmosphere both Marui and Jackal carried over their heads.

He was able to watch Sanada take his cap gingerly off his head and bow, low down in front of him in a silent apology.

"We couldn't win," Sanada said quietly. His voice brushed the insides of Yukimura's ears gently, making him shiver. From behind him, Kirihara let out a sob, and Yanagi moved sideways to lay a hand on his shoulder.

The atmosphere became cold and hollow.

"Next time," Yukimura had promised, eyes hard. "We'll get them at the Nationals."

Yukimura Seichii became the sick man no more.

* * *

But it came again.

Yukimura's body thrashed out and jerked, fighting the spasm that threatened to tear his whole body apart. Sanada cradled Yukimura's body against his own, tightly and securely before yelling, command after command after command. People in the area ran about, frightened, not understanding, as the team members rushed from place to place.

The ambulance arrived no more than five minutes after and carried Yukimura in a stretcher towards the vehicle. Sanada and Yanagi wasted no time climbing into the back with the paramedics.

The rest of the trip was a blur, as Sanada sat, clasping his hands together, with Yanagi, steady and calm beside him.

* * *

The next time the Rikkai Dai tennis regulars saw Yukimura, he was hooked up to over a dozen wires, his face pale and his eyes not fully closed. His mouth hung open slightly, and the only movements he made were those of his eyes, gentle and open and soft, flicking from side to side, and it was as though there was nothing wrong with him at all.

His arm hung limp beside him. Kirihara reached out to hold it in his own, and only when Yukimura squeezed back, ever so slightly, did he let his voice begin to give way. "Buchou," he said, voice shaking, fighting against the lump in his throat, "how are you? Are you doing well?"

Yukimura's eyes held such raw emotion, it was hard to look away. Akaya let out a small laugh.

"That's good," he said. "That's good."

* * *

Yukimura grew weak.

They all learned this, when Yukimura's eyes, half-lidded, moved more slowly than it had the week before. They were cold, blue, and had no strength, nor the will, to continue fighting.

_He won't recover_, the doctors said. _He doesn't have time to._

Yukimura liked looking at the sky. He liked imagining he was free, and nothing was able to limit him from doing things he wanted to do. He liked imagining he was on the court again, standing, watching his opponent. He imagined that he was tossing the ball up, and then reaching his other arm to smash it, and tried to remember the feeling of victory, of winning, of scoring, point by point.

He couldn't.

On that day, when Yukimura looked at the sky, Sanada realized that it seemed to mean nothing to him.

The next day was the same.

* * *

When the monitors beeped and showed the flat line, Sanada waited to see some change in Yukimura. His hand was on his captain's chest, sitting there, calmly.

And suddenly, he could feel it.

His captain's heart stopped beating under his very palm. The loss of rhythm. The hollow calm.

The utter loss.

* * *

_Owari_

_2010.05.16_


End file.
